


When You Go That Way (Four Times Bruce And Tony Never Met, One They Did)

by seularen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of attempted suicide, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seularen/pseuds/seularen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Tony</i> Stark?”</p><p>“The same.” As if there'd been another. Kinsella shakes his head. “They won every year he was enrolled. Wasn’t even a competition. That kid was unstoppable.”</p><p>‘<i>I could’ve stopped him</i>,’ Bruce thinks, looking down at the floor, saying nothing. '<i>Or at least, it would have been fun trying</i>.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Go That Way (Four Times Bruce And Tony Never Met, One They Did)

**_1\. Oxford Forward Thought Conference – Winter, 1984 (Bruce 15, Tony 14)_ **

The speaker is advising his young genius-level audience that while their inventions might change the world, the world will never see them unless they attain funding. And the only way to do _that_ , he says, is through military contracts.

In an auditorium full of suck-ups, Bruce is the only one who raises his hand and speaks his mind.

“What about the rest of us? What if we _don’t_ want to contribute to the arms race?”

He’s laughed down, of course. The sound echoes through his chest cavity, a lethal rattle.

Afterwards, he carefully puts away his notebook and pen, making sure not to stand until almost everyone’s filed out. The only other person lingering is the only other person who had the courage to sit in the front row: a taller, handsomer boy — everyone knows who he is, even if his nametag didn’t give it away, even if Bruce hadn't been sneaking glances ever since Stark had underlined the speaker’s point about defense contracts. Of course Anthony Stark would champion working for the military; it isn't like his family made its fortune with that strategy or anything. Bruce doesn’t know why Stark isn’t out there now, lapping up all the attention. Just the thought makes him furious. Bruce feels an argument rising up in him, acidic remarks that would completely tear down Stark’s family business. They’re an itch in the back of his throat, an impulse he doesn’t want to contain —

But before he can work up the nerve to speak, Stark moves past Bruce and his meaningless objections to using such genius on weapons manufacturing. Bruce looks down at his bag, and does his best to forget this latest in the string of embarrassments.

 

 

 

_**2\. Harvard-MIT Mathematics Competition – Spring, 1987 (Bruce 18, Tony 17)** _

Bruce doesn’t let his boredom show on his face — but only because he’s already been scolded a few times by the team’s administrative advisor. Professor Kinsella isn’t the most patient man to begin with, and it’s only Bruce’s second semester on campus; he wants to make a good impression. Besides, Bruce is always careful about testing patience. It never ends well, when you find the line by accident.

They win the match with barely any effort. It barely feels like a win at all, which disappoints Bruce. He likes big opponents, and bigger wins. He likes upsets — David and Goliath stuff. There’s a kind of righteousness behind the win, then. Not like this. This felt inevitable, and that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“You would’ve liked the team last year,” Professor Kinsella says, approaching the corner of the room he’s carved out for himself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kinsella echoes. “MIT didn’t know what to do this year. They’re regrouping after losing Stark.”

“ _Tony_ Stark?”

“The same.” As if there'd been another. Kinsella shakes his head. “They won every year he was enrolled. Wasn’t even a competition. That kid was unstoppable.”

‘ _I could’ve stopped him_ ,’ Bruce thinks, looking down at the floor, saying nothing. ' _Or at least, it would have been fun trying._ '

 

 

 

_**3\. Erik Selvig’s Christmas Party — December, 2005 (Bruce 36, Tony 35)** _

Tony Stark was kind of known for parties. If he had a _thing_ — if he had one thing, which of course he didn’t, because that’d be an unnecessary and frankly criminal restriction on his genius — then that thing would be the business of making drunk people happy. Which was a far more difficult task than some people (Pepper) understood. It was an art, and he was Picasso.

So you’d think, being such an expert, he could bring a little more life to this department Christmas party. No good: not even a big name like Tony Stark could inject life into tenured professors. He’d tried, the first time around at Harvard, but it hadn’t made much difference. He’d thought maybe it’d been a matter of age, but now he knew it was the nature of the beast: academia was flatlined, always had been, always would be. You couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

“You just missed the excitement,” A voice said to his right. Tony looked over and down to find a squat woman (professor, anthropology, sweater that belonged in a burn pile) with a plate full of holiday cookies. Well, whatever. It'd come to this. Thank god for whiskey.

“There was excitement?” he asked, the ‘ _And it’s not me?_ ’ implied in his raised eyebrow as he leaned against the wall and drank from his open container. Ah, memories.

“Yeah,” the professor, who if she ever wanted to give up teaching could be some kind of janitorial wrestler, said, “Banner just left. Nearly punched through a window because of Chauvin, Grubbs, and Schrock winning the Nobel.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy.” Tony approved more of the punching, couldn’t really care less about the other thing. Those three had been funded by the oil industry, which everyone knew, and their “contribution to science” was all for petroleum reformation. Olefin metathesis might have alternative uses, but that was for future scientists to figure out. Right now, in 2005, they were being rewarded for something far more important: the difficult business of pulling as much profit from each drop of oil that they could. Their process was the cornerstone; whatever future innovations came from the metathesis, it had to start from somewhere.

It was a political maneuver, giving the award to scientists who were so blatantly funded by industry. Tony couldn’t say he was disappointed; it fared pretty well for his future. 

 Tony took a sip of his bargain basement wine and tried not to wince. “Why didn’t he?”

“What?” His companion chomped through a cookie. It looked like it contained almonds, and Tony wanted one. He eyed the table on the other side of the room, and all the professors that stood between him and the plate. "Why didn’t he punch through the window?"

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said, giving up on any future cookie-based dreams.

“His girlfriend Betty stopped him.”

“Shame,” Tony murmured. “This place could use a little action.”

 

 

 

_**4\. Hulkbuster MK1 Trial Run — August, 2008 (Bruce 39, Hulk 2, Tony 38)** _

Bruce spent most his time in the major cities of Brazil, but he’s also spent time in the hills. It takes days to climb the gravel roads, roads that eventually narrow so even four-wheelers have to be abandoned and everyone has to make the last part of the journey by foot. Bruce prefers those places, tucked against the mountains. Hardly anyone bothers to check on these people, whether it be aid organizations, gangs, or their own government. They seem to prefer it that way. Bruce certainly does.

Sometimes, he'll come across a cluster of houses hiding guerillas. Bruce tries to steer clear of them, leaving after a meal and accepting only what he must to make it to the next peak. It isn't that he disagrees; with the Spanish he's picked up over the years, he has halting conversations about the long-term consequences of imperialism on populations with kids who can't be much older than he was in college. But he can't stay, no matter how much he'd love to lend a hand. Any whiff of him, and the American army would come down like a hammer on any place he stayed. He didn’t want that, especially not for the people kind enough to give him shelter.

Which is why when the drones come, Bruce doesn’t hesitate. Doesn't  _blink_. He runs straight for the hills, controlling his breathing as much as he can, as long as he can. Every inch he can run is an inch further from the dirt floor he slept on, the hearth his tortillas were warmed over. The hospitality  — that family — the children — they didn’t deserve —

His scattered thoughts are punctuated by sharp inhales as the drone (just one) narrows in on his location.

It’s not hard to tell who made it. Stark’s name is written on the side, just like with all his other weapons.

Bruce looks up at the helicopter circling the scene, taking video no doubt. He has a moment, maybe two, to wonder whether Stark is in one of those seats. Did he bother to show up for his little test run? Is he proud of himself, seeing his design in the field?

Bruce feels a familiar tightness in his throat — the other guy, crawling his way up with razored claws sinking through their skin. Bruce has so many unanswered questions, but the other guy only has one: how happy will Stark be, when he sees his pathetic machine smashed in one blow?

 

 

 

**_5\. LAX — June, 2012 (Bruce 43, Hulk 6, Tony 42)_ **

“I can’t help but notice you’re not in India,” are Tony’s first words when he comes up behind Bruce, who’d just made it to his baggage claim.

“Astute,” Bruce says as he turns, unfazed, somehow, that Tony knew he was going to be here, knew where to find him in the madness of seven billion people and 196 countries and eight terminals.  

“That’s what they pay me for,” Tony replies, apparently equally unfazed, though Bruce can see the frown behind the smirk like a future echo.

“Don’t you pay yourself?”

“It’s more a point of pride.”

“Because you’re lacking in those.” Bruce sees his bag and grabs it. They — no, _he_ can finally leave.

“You wound me, Banner.” Tony takes the lead, cutting past to the elevators that lead to the parking garage rather than the exit with the taxis.

“You don’t.” At the confused quirk of Tony’s eyebrow, Bruce explains: “Your drones could never touch me, Stark.”

That trips him up, and there’s the frown, as predicted. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t trying my hardest, back then.”

“Lucky me,” Bruce says before they get on the elevator, and there’s about a minute of silence between them as they shuffle in and wait. Bruce presses his back against the wall, trying to put as much room between himself and the other people as physically possible. He’s never been great with elevators to begin with, and now every time he’s in one he starts calculating the dimensions of the other guy in relation to the space in front of him, and it’s —

“Hey,” Tony says, voice pitched low. Tony can feel Bruce come back, as clear as refocusing a lens. “Not just you. Lucky _everyone_. Lucky _me_ , especially.” There’s a ding and the doors open, and everyone starts shuffling out; Tony’s hand hovers by the small of Bruce’s back as they wait, letting the crowd go first. Tony knows, with instincts borne from working with unstable materials, that Bruce isn’t doing great right now. He needs a steadying agent.

Tony isn’t the world’s leading expert on steady, so he goes for the next best thing: distraction. “You think Ross would’ve stopped with sending that tech at you?” They take their time walking down the concrete hallway to the parking lot where Happy’s waiting. Tony lets his hand land from orbit, settling on Bruce’s jacket. He feels Bruce straighten. “Ross would’ve taken that stuff and waged World War Three against guys with pea-shooters.”

“Would you have cared?” Bruce asks. Tony snorts at the question.

“Back then, I was the kind of oblivious you can only be if people have a vested interest in keeping you stupid. It’s a special kind of sheltered, Bruce, the kind that happens when you become CEO at the tender age of 21. It’s not an excuse, but —” Tony’s hand drops, and he doesn’t want to stop walking, doesn’t want to make this a _moment_ , but he kind of needs to see Bruce’s face. Input is crucial. “I’m not that person, now.”

Bruce’s expression, as he turns, is carved out in the harsh halogen shadows of the parking lot behind them. He has to remind himself that Tony is expecting an answer.

“I know you aren’t.” He breathes in to continue, but a family bursts out of the elevator, startling the quiet with loud, happy voices. Silently, Tony and Bruce walk until they get to the car, Bruce walking around to give himself distance. Not enough; once they're in, there's only inches separating them. Staring straight ahead doesn't exactly help the awkwardness.

Once they pull away, Bruce repeats: “I know you aren’t. I was watching you, when you made your announcement. ‘ _I am Iron Man_.’” Bruce huffs, leaning back against the leather seat and finally looking over. Tony's waiting with a bemused smile.

“And that was what convinced you I somehow changed from my overly egotistical ways? ‘Cuz I gotta say, Banner, you could pick better examples.”

“No, ego was never your problem.” The rumble of the car’s engine is a near-match for Bruce’s voice. It's Tony's excuse to lean closer. “It was loyalty. I was young once too, Tony. Young and a genius and wanted people to listen to how I was going to change the world. Sound familiar? And I made a mistake about who deserved my loyalty. So did you. But you know what I saw, that day you went in front of those reporters?” Bruce smiles, serene, recollecting. “I saw someone owning his successes _and_ failures. I saw a hero.”

‘ _And twelve days later I tried to kill myself_ ,’ Bruce doesn’t add. He remembers Tony's look from last time he mentioned it. In the quiet privacy of the backseat, with the passing lights illuminating Tony's eyes and catching on the quirk of his smile, Bruce doesn't think he could stand to see whatever twisted horror would marr the face that, just now, held nothing stronger than amused disbelief.

"Bruce," Tony says, "Your file says you're crazy, but I don't think they really captured the spectrum."

"Yeah, I've heard," Bruce replies, amused for his own reasons. "You don't have to believe me. About knowing you've changed. The guy you used to send drones after? He caught you as you fell from the sky. And he's not, uh, not really big on moral subtleties."

There's a long pause, as Tony digests that.

"Huh," is apparently all he has to say on the subject.

Bruce smiles in the relative dark of L.A.'s early evening. He likes winning against Tony Stark.

He always knew he would. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Oxford Forward Thought Conference is completely stolen from Indestructible Hulk Annual Vol 01. If you haven't read it, fly to your nearest comic store and buy it immediately.
> 
> The 2005 Nobel in Chemistry was given to Yves Chauvin, Robert H. Grubbs, and Richard R. Schrock for "for the development of the metathesis method in organic synthesis" which means "a really great way to get the most out of your petroleum if you're Shell." Read more and follow the links [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olefin_metathesis) (under "Applications" click on "Shell higher olefin process" - wow that sounds familiar!). Bruce was angry because it was, in the end, always about who had the most power.
> 
> According to the [Marvel Cinematic Timeline](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline), Tony Stark announced he was Iron Man on Oct 25th, and Bruce Banner tried to kill himself on Nov 7th. I can't help but think those two instances are related.


End file.
